Great Expectations eBook

It matters not what stranded ships repairing in dry
docks I lost myself among, what old hulls of ships
in course of being knocked to pieces, what ooze and
slime and other dregs of tide, what yards of ship-builders
and ship-breakers, what rusty anchors blindly biting
into the ground though for years off duty, what mountainous
country of accumulated casks and timber, how many
rope-walks that were not the Old Green Copper.
After several times falling short of my destination
and as often over-shooting it, I came unexpectedly
round a corner, upon Mill Pond Bank. It was a
fresh kind of place, all circumstances considered,
where the wind from the river had room to turn itself
round; and there were two or three trees in it, and
there was the stump of a ruined windmill, and there
was the Old Green Copper Rope-Walk — whose long
and narrow vista I could trace in the moonlight, along
a series of wooden frames set in the ground, that
looked like superannuated haymaking-rakes which had
grown old and lost most of their teeth.

Selecting from the few queer houses upon Mill Pond
Bank, a house with a wooden front and three stories
of bow-window (not bay-window, which is another thing),
I looked at the plate upon the door, and read there,
Mrs. Whimple. That being the name I wanted, I
knocked, and an elderly woman of a pleasant and thriving
appearance responded. She was immediately deposed,
however, by Herbert, who silently led me into the
parlour and shut the door. It was an odd sensation
to see his very familiar face established quite at
home in that very unfamiliar room and region; and
I found myself looking at him, much as I looked at
the corner-cupboard with the glass and china, the
shells upon the chimney-piece, and the coloured engravings
on the wall, representing the death of Captain Cook,
a ship-launch, and his Majesty King George the Third
in a state-coachman’s wig, leather-breeches,
and top-boots, on the terrace at Windsor.

“All is well, Handel,” said Herbert, “and
he is quite satisfied, though eager to see you.
My dear girl is with her father; and if you’ll
wait till she comes down, I’ll make you known
to her, and then we’ll go up-stairs. —
That’s her father.”

I had become aware of an alarming growling overhead,
and had probably expressed the fact in my countenance.

“I am afraid he is a sad old rascal,”
said Herbert, smiling, “but I have never seen
him. Don’t you smell rum? He is always
at it.”

“At rum?” said I.

“Yes,” returned Herbert, “and you
may suppose how mild it makes his gout. He persists,
too, in keeping all the provisions upstairs in his
room, and serving them out. He keeps them on
shelves over his head, and will weigh them all.
His room must be like a chandler’s shop.”

While he thus spoke, the growling noise became a prolonged
roar, and then died away.

“What else can be the consequence,” said
Herbert, in explanation, “if he will cut the
cheese? A man with the gout in his right hand
— and everywhere else — can’t expect
to get through a Double Gloucester without hurting
himself.”